


Werewolves of London

by IvyCpher



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, M/M, Werewolf John Watson
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-26
Updated: 2018-11-27
Packaged: 2019-08-29 23:21:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16753414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IvyCpher/pseuds/IvyCpher
Summary: John sighed as he packed clothes into his small suitcase. God did he hate this. He hated having to pack up and leave in the middle of an important case. He hated having to leave Sherlock. He hated why he had to leave.John Watson was a werewolf. He was apart of the rough 32% of the world that had developed the odd trait of turning into some hairy beast under the days of the full moon; and ever did he hate it.





	1. Chapter 1

John sighed as he packed clothes into his small suitcase. God did he hate this. He hated having to pack up and leave in the middle of an important case. He hated having to leave Sherlock. He hated why he had to leave.

John Watson was a werewolf. He was apart of the rough 32% of the world that had developed the odd trait of turning into some hairy beast under the days of the full moon; and ever did he hate it. He's hated it for as long as it had affected him. The trait revealed itself when he was only twelve and it forever changed his life. People didn't want to be seen around him when they found out, thought maybe it was contagious or that he was just some weirdo, he wasn't allowed to enter certain stores or restaurants, and of course it really put a damper on finding any job. That's why he had went into the military, they didn't care who or what you where there.

But then when John was released from his service, he didn't know what he would do next. That was until he met Sherlock. With that man's brilliant ways of deduction, John thought for sure that Sherlock would say something about his problem, but he never did.

That was one of the reasons why John had fallen in love with Sherlock in the first place, he didn't care about what he was. He only cared about Dr. John Watson.

The faintest of smiles slipped onto John's face and he closed his suitcase. Behind him he could hear Sherlock's quick paced steps, he turned around to see Sherlock standing right behind him and holding his favourite navy and grey scarf.

“I know you're not supposed to bring any extra articles of clothing to the clinic but, I thought you’d like to take this.” Sherlock held out the scarf and John took it.

John rubbed his thumb over the soft fabric, “thank you.” He muttered.

“Why don't you just stay here?” Sherlock asked suddenly. “I'm sure I could take care of you, how hard could it be really? I'm a dog person, so I won't mind the fur.”

John sighed, Sherlock had brought this up to him many times before. “Sherlock, you can't. I have to go to the clinic, if I don't they'll send people over to fetch me and it'll just be a big scene.”

“I'm sure Mycroft could do something about that, as much as I dislike asking him for assistance. John, come on, do you really enjoy going to clinic for a week every month?”

“Of course not! Sherlock you know that I much rather stay here with you, but I can't.”

There was a silence before Sherlock took a hesitate step forward to hug John.

John returned the hug and buried his face into Sherlock's neck. “I just can't.” He whispered.

Sherlock pulled away just enough to kiss John, his grip tightened and he pulled the shorter man closer.

When they broke apart, the soft smile had returned to John's features. “I love you, you know.”

“I know.” Sherlock smiled. “I love you too.”

Though Sherlock was very reluctant to let John leave, he was finally persuaded by an hours worth of cuddling.

John wasn't ready to leave. He never was, but what was he to do about it. He left 221B with his suitcase in hand and Sherlock's scarf about his neck.

Once outside, John hailed a cab and set off for Rowena Medical Clinic.

On the way to the clinic it started to rain, John watched as the raindrops raced down the windowsill and damped the grey outside. He rested his cheek in his palm and stared out at the blurred buildings and people.

Full moons didn't last much more than five days, but five days was a long time to be gone from the whole world. To be shut up the in lower levels of a hospital.

Angry anxious thoughts swarmed in John's mind and tried to batter them away with the idea of Sherlock. He'd probably have the case they were working on done by the time he came back. Maybe they could just have a day to laze around once he came back..

John closed his eyes and rubbed his fists against his eyelids until he saw booming colors and far off galaxies. He pulled his hands away from his eyes and moved to hold on to Sherlock's scarf.

He gingerly thumbed over it's soft woven fabric and smiled, Sherlock was such a dork sometimes. While out on a case he had saw this scarf in a shop and had to stop everything just so he could buy it. Only because it had the Ravenclaw colors.

John brought the scarf up to his face and smelled it, it smelled like the air after a thunderstorm and woodsmoke with just the smallest hints of nicotine and tea leaves. Just like Sherlock. He sighed and held the scarf close and inhaled the familiar scent of Sherlock.

The cab slowed to halt and John blinked back his thoughts of Sherlock and looked out the window, the roundly curved Rowena Medical Clinic gloomily stared back at him.

John grabbed his suitcase from beside him and paid the cabbie before stepping out into the cold drizzle. He didn't want to get wet but he didn't want to hurry inside either. He finally chose to walk a bit slower up the few steps and getting only moderately damp.

John entered the clinic and signed in.

He was taken to the lower levels almost immediately. A nurse gave him a thin johnny gown and showed him to his room, then left.

The room was circular, just like the hospital itself. The walls were shiny white tile and the floors were the same. The room was completely bare except for a cot at the end of the room. There were no windows, the only light was artificial and blindly bright.

John moved over to the cot and set his suitcase down. He removed all of his clothes and slipped into the gown. It had some type of chemical film that stuck to his skin and made his hands feel dirty. He placed all of his clothes, except for Sherlock's scarf in his suitcase and waited.

After sometime of waiting, the door opened again and John was greeted with a doctor. As always, it was a different doctor than he had the previous month.

“Mr- er Watson,” the doctor checked his clipboard. “How are you feeling today?”

“Alright I suppose, normal.”

The doctor looked up from his clipboard and saw the scarf in John's hand. “You know we don't recommend keeping outside items with you in this time. We won't be held accountable for whatever happens to it.”

“I know,” John muttered softly. “But this will he fine.” His grip tightened around the scarf.

The doctor gave a skeptical look but dropped the subject. He continued to give a rundown of questions that John had heard a million times before. Are you eating normally? Lost or gained any extreme amounts of weight in the last month? Are you on any new medications?

The questions went on and on, but finally they ended. The doctor asked John for his bag. “Are you sure you don't want to put away the scarf?” 

“I'm positive,” he handed the doctor his suitcase.

The doctor gave a quick nod then left the room. The door loudly clicked shut with it's automatic lock and John sighed.


	2. Chapter 2

As soon as John left, Sherlock could feel it creeping all throughout his body.  _ Boredom. _

Without John around well, there simply wasn't anything fun to partake in. He had just solved the case that he and John had been working on that morning. It was more interesting to look at than it was hard to solve. Three art critics had been found and decapitated in their homes with their televisions serving as their new heads.

Far too easy that one was. After a quick prowl on the web Sherlock had found that a French artist, under the fake name of Vida Rouge, had many similar sculptures in small galleries in France. Another quick searches had showed that all of the critics had either dismissed her art as a copy of the widely drawn ‘object heads’ floating around online or simply left it as overdone. Then a call to a few of the smaller art exhibits in London confirmed that Rouge was in England for a release of a new painting.

Simple. All too simple.

Sherlock finally decided to text Lestrade his findings, it would take up at least a minutes worth of time and that would be one less minute until John returned.

 

_ Vida Rouge killed the critics. _

_ Check the Victoria Miro gallery to find out where she is staying. _

_ -SH _

 

He quickly turned off his phone's notifications and haphazardly tossed it onto the coffee table.

Sherlock thought he would be used to John leaving by now, but he thought wrong. Every month it was the same thing, John left and Sherlock became more bored and lonely than ever.

And when he was bored and lonesome it was very particularly easy to fall back into a certain bad habit.

Sherlock groaned loudly and tousled his hair aggressively. He shook those thoughts from his mind. No he had been clean for some time now and he was going to stay clean. John would surely leave him if he didn't.

He jumped up from the chair he was sitting in like it was electrified and hurried off to John's room with a sudden idea in mind. It took a mere seconds for Sherlock to find John's laptop stashed away in a spare dresser drawer, he really wasn't good at hiding it. He opened the laptop and quickly typed in John's password, which he never seemed to change despite Sherlock's warnings of how unsafe it was. As he did that Sherlock walked back into the sitting room where he flopped back down into his chair.

With the computer now on, Sherlock went to the internet. Not that he needed it really, he had searched this hundreds of times before and by now had memorized the information. But there was just something about seeing it on a screen.

Sherlock searched ‘ _ werewolf treatment facilities in America’ _ in one tab and opened a new one were he searcher ‘ _ werewolf treatment facilities in Britain _ ’. He switched open to the first tab and got hundreds of results for clinics and medical centers alike, then he switched to the second tab. And the first things to come up were articles, articles that spoke of the mistreatment and the harsh conditions of the werewolf treating hospitals in Britain.

Sherlock bit his lip and and clicked on the most recently published article, dated just two days ago. He quickly breezed through it. It spoke of things that Sherlock had already read dozens of times before. Illegal studies and nonconsensual tests on their patients, inhumane conditions, and of course the mistreatment of patients. 

There has been handfuls of lawsuits against these clinics, but nothing has been proved against them for the fact that werewolves aren't able to properly remember what happened when they transform.

Sherlock ran his long fingers through his hair, brushing a few stray curls from his eyes. He then clicked over to the second tab. Unlike in Britain and the majority of European countries, in America werewolves were not forced to go to a clinic each month to maintain them while they transformed. If they had the proper requirements, a werewolf could stay in the comfort of their own home while they were under the spell of the moon.

He thought about bringing up this matter with Mycroft for the umpteenth time, perhaps this time he would agree to slip something into Parliament. He was the man that controlled the strings after all.

With a sigh Sherlock leaned back in the chair, he tented his fingers under his chin. He had never spoken to John about the way he was treated at Rowena, mostly because John never brought it up. He didn't enjoy speaking about the clinic and he tried to avoid it if possible. But perhaps Sherlock should bring this up to him, then that could just push them one step closer to tossing the clinic.

Sherlock closed the tabs and turned off John's computer, then he put it back where he found it. But instead of leaving John's room, he slowly sat down on the corner of John's bed.

Even though he and John were dating, they weren't dating for very long, only three months if you were to count their time of confused pining. But since they had not been together long, John insisted it was too soon to be sharing a bed. A soft smile curled at Sherlock's lips, he let himself fall back into the bed. John could be so old-fashioned sometimes, but Sherlock couldn't help loving him.

Sherlock rolled over on his side and his face was in a rather overstuffed pillow. It smelled like John. Sherlock closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of the pillow, the scent of John. John who always had that lingering hospital smell of disinfectant, and ink from his computer, and just the smallest bit of cherrywood from that cologne he always seemed to be wearing.

Now if only John was here.. To hold him and to talk to him.

Sherlock let out a sigh and buried his face deeper into the pillow. He would get John out of that place for sure. Because he was Sherlock Fucking Holmes and if he could woo Dr. John Watson, then he could surely get rid of a law imposed by Parliament. Because how hard could it be?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys like this chapter! Quick! Anyone got any tips for overthrowing a government?

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this idea in my head ever since Halloween! I hope no ones done it yet.
> 
> Anywho this thing will have more than one chapter! Hopefully I won't fall out of this fic like I do my other ones.


End file.
